


The Lost Jedi

by CuChulainnX19



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:47:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25324891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuChulainnX19/pseuds/CuChulainnX19
Summary: Or, Sol Orbital III: Jedi Healer.Jedi healer Farissa Anassari survives the Great Jedi Purge, but at the cost of everything and everywhere she's ever known. Stranded on a strange planet—an isolated, pre-spaceflight world somehow populated by humans—she must trust in the Force and her new allies as she recalls a darkening past and faces an uncertain future.
Kudos: 6





	1. A New World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the joke subtitle in the summary suggests, Farissa is (very loosely, like broad concept level) based on Legends Barriss Offee, on whose behalf I will never forgive the remade Clone Wars series. Since I haven't read Medstar II in years, however, Farissa will really be her own character—and, eventually, so will her friends.

981 A.B.R., Urs Palma, Varnooine

Farissa Anissari had been having a terrible week, and that was likely what saved her life. 

A lull in the fighting, and a corresponding lull in the constant influx of wounded clones and local militia and Separatist victims, had finally given the Mirialan a chance to to do something other than work, eat, and put herself in a healing trance for a few hours in an attempt to cheat her body’s need to sleep. Namely, she had gone to meditate—meditate for real, immerse herself in the Force and simply feel it, listening without any effort to command.

That was the only reason she sensed the troopers coming to kill her.

The Force yanked their blasters off-target at the last moment, and her blade—brilliant violet, said to be the only ‘saber in the Order the same color as Master Windu’s—sang harsh and low as its terrible hum cut the soldiers’ heads from their bodies.

After that it was a desperate blur, racing as quietly as possible to a hyperspace-capable shuttle and putting as much distance as she could between herself and the hospital, pushing the repulsor drive to break atmosphere and escape the gravity well without being intercepted by her own support cruisers that were suddenly firing on her, hearing the cockpit alarm as an energy surge knocked the hyperdrive out of alignment, ignoring the alarm because she had no other choice if she wanted to live, and then…

She must have lost consciousness momentarily, the combination of the agony of her siblings with the sudden _wrongness_ as the ship abruptly _fell_ out of hyperspace, and then she was crashing. 

* * *

2011 A.D., Nevada, Earth

She managed to put the shuttle down in a stretch of desert, which had upsides and downsides. Fortunately, the location meant that she damaged neither people, infrastructure, nor sensitive wilderness; unfortunately, it meant that she was stuck in her current location for the foreseeable future.

The engine systems, Farissa quickly determined, were entirely shot. The blaster cannons were probably salvageable, which, given the state of the engines, was more of a concern than a benefit. The communications systems and cold storage were also mostly functional, along with a small utility droid, which was an unmitigated stroke of fortune. Also fortunate, and yet equally distressing, was what she found once she began to make use of the communications system.

The planet she had landed on was pre-hyperspace and riven with political divisions—over two hundred entirely independent governments claimed various parts of the world—and available astronomical data corresponded with nothing in the shuttle’s navigational computer. That meant no foreseeable way home, but also that the planet would likely be safe from any attempt to pursue her. At the same time, her shuttle’s technology was at risk of becoming a contested resource, capable of inciting conflict between the multitude of primitive powers on the globe. And, most strangely, the native sentient species appeared to be _human_.

The ship’s translation algorithms even rendered their name for themselves as “human” in Basic.

Leaving that bizarre, but not necessarily inexplicable, coincidence aside, she settled herself on the floor of the main cabin and decided to resume her meditation. The Force felt different here: not less turbulent—it could hardly be placid on so divided a world—but almost insular, wrapped around this single world and almost reluctant to reach out into the galaxy beyond. Perhaps it was because of how isolated the planet was, and yet Farissa could _feel_ a greater presence, almost at the edge of existence, as if waiting to be addressed… or, perhaps, simply watching.

* * *

The next day, she was roused from her meditation by the approach of a caravan of wheeled vehicles. She checked over herself as she waited for them: Jedi-standard boots, loose pants that she had substituted early in the war for Master Ulimira’s preferred ankle-length tunics, undershirt and tunic tucked into her belt, hooded cloak in the same style as her Master’s, lightsaber clipped securely to her belt.

She stood outside the shuttle, hands clasped in front of her, as the vehicles approached, and turned her attention to the Force. Concern, determination… fear and confusion underneath, but not the worst case scenario for first contact between a Jedi and a pre-hyperdrive native people. The acrid smell of chemical propellants wafted past her as the convoy rolled to a stop, the vehicles fanning out in a semi-circle, hypothetically pinning her between them and the shuttle.

The occupants—and they were definitely human, Farissa noted—exited their vehicles in concert, most of them heavily armed by their standards. Slugthrowers, it seemed, which appeared primitive but could, by virtue of their comparative unpredictability, be more dangerous than blasters. A balding man in curious outfit—an oddly cut jacket and a bit of tailored cloth tied around his neck—stepped forward, holding up a piece of folded leather bearing a badge and a flimsiplast ident card. 

Farissa caught the distinct sounds “Phil Coulson,” which she took to be his name, but the rest of his introduction dissolved in a jumble of words that her study session the previous night had left her tantalizingly almost able to remember and their individuality slipped through her grasp like the sand around them.

She raised her hands peacefully and met his gaze. _Language_ , she focused as she thrust her mind forward, _peace_ and _communication_ as she quested for a civilization’s worth of information woven throughout his mind. He recognized the intrusion too late to attempt to fight it, however, and the fact that she ignored everything he tried to hide or lock away had to help her case, and eventually they both staggered back a step, his hands flying automatically to his weapon as she raised her hands again.

“I’m sorry.” The words, in English, stopped Agent Coulson for the moment. He was still angry and fearful— _what had she done to him?_ —but almost at the point of realization.

“My name is Farissa Anissari,” she continued, speaking quickly but calmly and deliberately. “I had to touch your mind in order to learn your language. Until some time the day before yesterday,” thirty-six hours isn’t quite the same in Galactic Standard as it is in local time, but it’s close enough, and the days do line up, “I was a Jedi General in the Grand Army of the Republic. My forces turned on me without warning, and in my attempt to escape, the hyperdrive on my ship malfunctioned. Given the mismatch in your world’s astronomical records with my navigational computer, I do not believe my former forces could pursue me here. However, I am and remain a Jedi, and as such I am a guardian of peace—which means I cannot allow you indiscriminate access to the technology aboard my ship. Nonetheless, as I am likely trapped on this world for the foreseeable future, I would like to begin making friends with the locals, ideally beginning with all of you.”

Coulson gave her an indecipherable look, his emotions a carefully ordered mix of incredulity, worried remembering, fear, and cautious hope.

“Agent Phil Coulson,” he repeated, “Strategic Homeland Intervention, Espionage, and Logistics Directorate. My boss is going to want to talk to you, but… can I ask, what the hell is a Jedi?” Farissa’s lips twitched involuntarily; she had never mastered the humorless aspect that Master Windu projected so infallibly. 

“A Jedi is a scholar and a warrior,” she began, falling back on the lectures Masters Yoda and Luminara and the others had delivered decades ago to her and her crechemates, modified by her own experience, “one who follows the will of the Force and uses its power to protect the weak and defend the innocent. The Force,” she added before Coulson could ask, “is a cosmic energy field. It exists from, within, and around all things, living beings especially; some say it is the Force that truly binds the galaxy together. Those who are sensitive to its presence and trained in its use can move objects at a distance, touch the minds of others, even navigate through hyperspace without the use of a navicomputer—it depends on the individual, their training and their natural talents. I am, preferentially, a healer.”

“Preferentially?” Coulson raised a very direct eyebrow.

“I was, as I said, a Jedi General,” Farissa smiled sadly. “The Republic was swept up into a war between the central government and planets and corporations who wished to secede, and seemed determined to use violence to do so, whether it was necessary or not. A team of Jedi investigators became embroiled in their plots, and ultimately we were drafted to command the clone army, of mysterious origin, that appeared just in time to save those investigators and their rescuers.”

“Until some time the day before yesterday,” Coulson concluded the story for her.

“Precisely,” Farissa nodded. “Even as a general, I served primarily as a healer. I was meditating, my first real opportunity after a very bad week, when my forces turned on me. A glancing hit to my shuttle resulted in a power overload that caused a hyperdrive malfunction, and I was thrown into the gravity well of your planet. Ah… would you care for some tea?”

* * *

As it turned out, Coulson did not want tea. What he did want was to escort her across the continent to meet the director of the Strategic Homeland—the director of SHIELD, Nicholas Fury. Farissa had agreed, once she had obtained the personal oath of every SHIELD agent at the crash site to leave her ship alone until her return, and now she was in the city of Washington (the capital of one of the larger and most powerful sub-planetary governments), sitting across a desk from a man who closely resembled Master Windu… if Master Windu were Force-blind, had lost an eye, and were less concerned with controlling his anger than in controlling information.

Considering that Master Windu had invented an entirely new variation of Form VII to help channel his anger constructively, that said a great deal about Director Fury’s interest in controlling information.

Also in the room was a brown-haired woman about Farissa’s age, wearing a simpler, pseudo-military suit of a style Farissa had seen before in planetary militias. Like Fury and Coulson, the woman, Commander Maria Hill, had reacted surprisingly little to Farissa’s green skin and Mirialan tattoos; the Jedi healer was nearly certain that this Earth, and SHIELD specifically, had more experience with aliens than they let on… though how that was possible given its apparent isolation, she still wasn’t sure.

“I _would_ like to share some of the technology available to me, yes,” she was busy explaining, “I simply don’t want the weapons technology being used to destabilize your world’s already volatile geopolitical situation. Under ordinary circumstances, I would even encourage your planetary leadership to come together to make use of what’s left of my hyperdrive—except that you don’t have a coherent planetary leadership, and your entire planet is almost certainly _safer_ for now if you avoid drawing attention to yourselves.”

“And as I’ve said,” Director Fury rejoined, doing his best to stare her down with his one good eye, “SHIELD is an international organization with backing from every functional government. We don’t do destabilization, and you’ll forgive me if a war on the other side of the galaxy doesn’t sound like a reason not to take a look around Alpha Centauri.”

Farissa sighed. She had consular training, of course, but she was no Negotiator; the humans had been likely to get at least a significant deal of what they wanted since the meeting began. Fortunately, part of the reason for that was that Fury and the others were in fact being honest with her, so she didn’t feel excessively concerned about granting the closest thing to a planetary law enforcement organization _some_ degree of access to her ship.

“Very well,” she conceded, “I will consent to _limited_ analysis of the shuttle’s tactical systems, for the purpose of developing planetary defenses and less-lethal weapons, as well as the power plant, medical, and propulsion systems, _so long_ as I have full oversight of your weapons research, and of any work or examination done on the shuttle or any of its parts. I sense your good intentions, Director Fury, but as a Jedi I must be cautious about giving your people new ways to inflict harm.”

Fury nodded, seeming remarkably unruffled by her somewhat backhanded concession as he continued, “I can live with that. Which brings us to our next point: I’d like to offer you a position as a SHIELD consultant. You’ll need a job on this planet, and that means ID: birth certificate, driver’s license, medical records, all kinds of things you don’t have, not in any form that the US or any other government around here will accept. Fact that you’re not human won’t make things easy, either, but SHIELD has a lot of resources we can use to help you out if you work with us—which you’ll have to if you want to keep an eye on our research. This would just make it more formal.”

Farissa frowned pensively. “The independence of the Jedi from external authority has long been an important pillar of the Order. Not that we were ever wholly separate from the Republic, especially in recent decades, but I am hesitant to agree to work directly _for_ your organization. You likely possess the means to coerce me to, in the short term… but I would prefer a more sustainable arrangement.”

It was Fury’s turn to frown as he considered her point, weighing his hard-earned cynicism against her probable power, before replying: “The point of a SHIELD consultancy is that you wouldn’t _be_ at our beck and call. We could keep an eye on you, and you on what we’re doing with your ship, but unless you tried to threaten the safety of the Earth, we wouldn’t step on your toes.”

A long silence followed, as Farissa gave the Director a long, assessing look before nodding. 

“Very well,” she agreed. “I need your help, and you desire mine. Let us hope that together, we will be able to forge a lasting friendship. If that’s all for now…?”

“I’ll show you to Agent Sitwell’s office,” Commander Hill offered. “He’ll begin the process of getting you Earth-official documentation.”


	2. Edge of the Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Farissa leaves SHIELD behind, for a while, and discovers another monastic order—and, perhaps, the promise of answers.

* * *

A month and a half later, having almost forgotten the bone-deep unease Sitwell filled her with compared to Coulson, Hill, and Fury, Farissa locked down ExoLab 1, the section of the SHIELD research facility where the blaster cannons from her now-scuttled ship were stored, and departed to explore the planet on her own.

She would not be completely independent, even then; she had money provided by SHIELD and, crucially, documentation and technology that, with the aid of the Force, would allow her to pass through any civilian security checkpoint, and probably most more secure ones. For now, however, she had no interest in infiltration: between the years of war at home and the weeks under SHIELD quarantine, Farissa needed a chance to simply listen to the will of the Force, and to go where it bid her.

So it was that, months later, she stood in a mansion in Nepal that did not exist on the outside, her true face exposed for the first time in weeks, speaking to a middle-aged human woman who was quite possibly older than Master Yoda.

“You’ve come a long way,” the Ancient One observed, and Farissa knew instantly that she was not referring to the distance she had traveled across the Earth.

“I have,” she nodded. “I lost… everything. My home, my family, everything I knew… but I survived, against all odds, and now the Force has brought me here. Why, I do not know, but I trust that I will discover the reason in time.”

“Not much time at all, I think,” the Ancient One smiled. “The reason seems obvious. Kamar-Taj is a place of learning: why else would you have come here but to learn?”

Farissa could only smile ruefully as she answered, “I suppose I’ve grown used to things being more complex. Primitive as this world is by my standards, there has been much to learn… but perhaps what you know is different, or perhaps this is merely where I need to be. Either way, a Jedi always seeks to learn, if she can find a teacher.”

The Ancient One showed her to initiate’s quarters, which Farissa noted with amusement managed to be spare even by Jedi standards—though, of course, the practice of receiving initiates as infants meant that certain habits were, in theory, easier for Jedi to ingrain, whereas those of Kamar-Taj might need to be broken of certain others. Still, it felt comforting in a way Farissa hadn’t expected, and she thanked the Ancient One politely before kneeling on her simple bedding to meditate.

* * *

It turned out that her problem in studying to be a sorcerer was very nearly the opposite of what most of Kamar-Taj’s disciples encountered: rather than being skeptical of forces existing beyond herself, even after witnessing the feats its masters were capable of, Farissa was too much in tune with a particular one of those forces, already so immersed in the Force that the other energies on which the Mystic Arts relied were washed away in the current.

She was also distracted. Ever since the Ancient One had described the theory of indefinite realities that underlay the practice of magic—which, she had quickly demonstrated, went far beyond mere primitive Force-manipulation—Farissa had been plagued by the sense of disorientation that had accompanied her arrival on Earth, and by the lack of any detectable overlap between her shuttle’s navigational charts and the most far-reaching astronomical data available to Earth’s researchers.

Nonetheless, she divided her time studiously between the library’s section on the nature of the multiverse, her meditations, and practice in both the Force techniques she was familiar with and the magical abilities that persistently stayed just beyond her grasp.

“The sorcerer who can’t perform magic,” an amused voice echoed from behind her, and she straightened from her meditation to observe the dark-skinned sorcerer who’d spoken to her once or twice before.

“Master Mordo,” Farissa smiled politely and bowed in greeting, her dark blue lips twitching at the way his eyes always widened slightly when she faced him directly. “Have you come to watch my efforts at your art, or to question me on the nature of my own?”

Karl Mordo was a good man, of that she was certain, but his character felt brittle to her senses. He was orthodox, perhaps doctrinaire; someday, Farissa could tell, his worldview would be challenged, and she doubted—feared, despite herself—that he would not maintain his footing against that blow. From Volffe Karkko to Yan Dooku, she knew, the most fearsome fallen Jedi—and those most prone to falling in the first place—were not those who questioned everything, eyes wide and minds sharp, but those who let their fear bind them too closely to rules that could not, in the end, be sustained.

It was not the only way to fall, but it was the fastest, and the hardest to recover from.

“I’m curious,” Mordo said, gesturing in her direction. “Sorcerers draw energy from other dimensions, but you say your Force is part of the very world around us.”

“It is,” she nodded, “though the Force around Earth flows… oddly, in a way I cannot yet explain. When I dropped out of hyperspace, the wave of pain and anguish I could feel—the pain of thousands of my fellow Jedi who did not escape their soldiers’ betrayal—all of that cut out immediately. It is as if this solar system, and this planet in particular, exist in a sort of oasis, and yet I can also feel a presence, as if a distant observer were keeping close watch over this planet.”

Mordo raised an eyebrow. “There are many worlds, even beyond those from which sorcerers draw power. Some we guard against; others benevolent, or are the province of mundane actors.”  
“Such as myself,” Farissa inferred, turning from the courtyard to gaze out over the mountains, “and that… Iron Man? I confess the distinction doesn’t make much sense to me: the Jedi were a relatively ascetic order, but we tried _not_ to cut ourselves off from the galaxy around us. The knowledge you possess and the feats you are capable of could be a force for immense good in your world.”

“Perhaps,” Mordo allowed, his expression darkening, “until those jealous of our power tried to steal our secrets for their own ends, or some among our own became corrupted. I am not convinced that whatever we might do for good would be worth the cost.”

Farissa sighed. “Your point is not without merit,” she admitted. “I believe the Jedi have done more good than harm in the course of galactic history, certainly as compared to what the galaxy would look like without us. But schisms within the Order have also brought about the darkest times: from the Hundred-Year Darkness to the Great Galactic War, and from the Great Sith War to the Jedi-Sith War… even the Clone Wars, we had come to believe, were instigated by the machinations of a resurgent Sith Order.”

“The Sith?” The question was low, urgent, almost piercing with an existential fear.

“An ancient order set up in opposition to the Jedi,” Farissa explained. “I know only the most general outline, even by the standards of what records have survived the millennia, but many thousands of years ago there was a schism in the Order, between those who wished to adhere to the light side of the Force, and those who wished to make use of the darkness. The latter made war on the first, and were driven off, exiled into unknown space… only to return thousands of years later, having named themselves Lords of the Sith. The Republic destroyed their empire in response, but the Sith themselves ever evaded extinction, trying again and again to bring the Republic to its knees… and if they were behind the war, behind even the clones’ betrayal, then they may have finally succeeded.”

Mordo regarded her silently for several moments, his sympathy shining in the Force. Then, his attention half on something else—an idea, perhaps, a concern not directly related to her story—he asked, “Tell me about the light and dark.”

“Of course.” Farissa beckoned, and Mordo moved to join her looking out over the mountains. “The Force is not divisible, but it surrounds and reflects everything else that exists, and so it does have different aspects: the Unifying and the Living Force, for example, and also the light and the dark. The light side of the Force is… everything a Jedi strives for, to be and protect and uphold. Harmony, compassion, the flourishing of life. The dark side is the opposite: destructive, consuming, fueled by fear and anger and hatred. Thus the Jedi code teaches:

“‘There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the Force.’ 

“A Jedi spends their entire life learning to recognize their emotions and release them into the Force, to act with reason and compassion at all times.” She paused.

“Among the hardest lessons, often, for a Jedi to learn is the balance between avoiding temptation and fearing it. We forsake all manner of attachments for the Order, because even love for our fellow Jedi can lead to jealousy or fear, and thence to anger, hatred, the dark side. But if we allow _that_ fear to eclipse our friendships, our compassion, our dedication not simply to the Order but to what it stands for… in the end, fear is fear, and fear is a terrible reason to do anything.”

Mordo was silent for much longer that time. 

* * *

The end of her time at Kamar-Taj felt, when it came, sooner than Farissa had expected. 

She had, at length, mastered the creation of the Eldritch Bands that formed as crucial a part in the sorcerers’ fighting style as the lightsaber did for the Jedi, and was sparring with Mordo—who was openly relishing the fact that she finally had a handicap, and taking full advantage of her divided focus. 

The sorcerer deftly avoided another eldritch lash and responded with his staff, striking her across the shoulder as she tried to control the glowing cord in her hands. Before she could lash out with the Force and consequently forfeit the match, they were interrupted by an insistent pinging from her belt.

“It’s SHIELD,” she told Mordo, disengaging to answer the call. She had given Commander Hill a holocommunicator from the shuttle and taken its partner, and the rest had been seized by the science department. She thumbed the activation button and Hill’s form appeared in azure miniature.

“Anassari,” the deputy director leapt over any formalities, “there’s been a break-in. Your lab is fine,” she added quickly, “but another facility and several top agents were compromised, along with a powerful artifact. We may end up needing Project Prometheus to handle it, and any technical assistance you could offer with the artifact itself would be useful; we just need to know where to pick you up.”

Farissa glanced at Mordo, who made a brief sling-portal gesture, and she nodded before asking Hill, “Where do you need me?”

Hill gave a location. Mordo nodded again, and Farissa confirmed that she would arrive shortly, then disconnected the call and headed for her room. 

“What’s Project Prometheus?” Mordo asked, trailing after her.

“Space technology,” Farissa replied. “Everything on my shuttle that was intact enough to reverse-engineer, from the computer systems to the hyperdrive. Most concerningly, weapons, of a standard well above what this world currently possesses. I could not give them the hyperdrive and withhold the shields and blasters, given the galaxy they’ll be flying into, but it is still a sorrowful prospect.”

The Ancient One met them as Farissa finished packing her bag.

“I have business in New York,” she answered the Jedi’s questioning glance, which struck Farissa as a complete non sequitur. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she conjured a portal and beckoned Farissa through it, into a large, marble-floored room dominated by an ornate wooden staircase. 

“This is 177A Bleecker Street,” the Ancient One explained as she led Farissa toward the door, “the Sanctum Sanctorum of New York City. The others, if you recall, are in London and Hong Kong. If you have need of our aid, you need not travel all the way to Nepal again.”

“Thank you, Master,” Farissa bowed formally, as she used to when addressing Masters Yoda or Windu. “You may call on me in turn at any time; it would be my honor to assist. And may the Force be with you.”

The Ancient One smiled in her usual cryptic way and opened the door with a gesture, pointing her toward George Washington Park — the sorcerers preferred to avoid the gaze of mundane governments, a desire with which Farissa could empathize, remembering the Republic Senate’s habitual obstructionism and Director Fury’s… well, paranoia wasn’t the kindest word, but it had merit.

She had also forgotten to wear her photostatic veil, but she knew how to use the Force to go unnoticed, and the only people who would be inclined to look closer were those she was going to meet, and who already knew her story.


End file.
